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The outfit is meant to rattle me, I'm sure.

I frown, so she’ll think it’s working.

She doesn't get it.

The image of our future never scared me.

Even now that it includes body bags, rather than wedding presents, I have no fear of embracing eternity with her.

She's the one who’s terrified of being trapped.

I rest my hand on her exposed thigh.

Her shoulders fall. Her breath eases.

If she's pretending she's nervous, she's doing a great job.

I fully believe her. I fully believe I'm the only person who can soothe her.

And I fully want to be that person.

She sees that.

She even sees that I’m working her too.

But she doesn’t realize my actual weapon. The one thing she doesn’t have:

Patience.

I don't say a word.

I just draw a line up her thigh. Higher and higher.

Under the slit of her sleek dress.

Her eyes flutter closed as I find the line of her silk thong.

I rub her over her panties for a moment, taking my time, feeling every sweet inch of her folds, soaking in every decibel of her whimper.

Finally, once I’ve had my fill of teasing her, I go to where she needs me.

"The driver will see," she whispers in Italian with that adorable American accent of hers.

Fuck, it does things to me.

Makes it hard to do anything but rip her clothes off and fuck her right here in the backseat.

"Let him," I reply in my own Italian.

Her blush spreads down her chest.

This is the Jamie I recognize. The one who believes she’s in control.

"Unless you're feeling shy," I offer.

She swallows hard and finds her steeliness. "No. Let him.” She lifts her hips and slides her thong to her ankles.

I bend and help it over her heels, then slip it into my pocket.